


the love we deserve

by transatlantyks



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Psychological Trauma, domestic intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 11:10:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21457078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transatlantyks/pseuds/transatlantyks
Summary: “Jesus, aren’t you tired?”“Sure I am. So what?”I can take care of myself,Eddie thinks.And I’ll take care of you, too.“If it’s what we need … You know, we get up, we change the bedsheets. Shower with the door open, flick through the TV channels until the sun comes up. While you need it, whileweneed it.”In the darkness, Eddie can see Richie’s eyebrows furrowing. Sometimes it takes a moment to accept the love we deserve.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 1
Kudos: 103





	the love we deserve

**Author's Note:**

> Just a small drabble for a hurt/comfort prompt. Not my usual genre, but hopefully this somewhat fulfills the prompt! Also first original thing I'm posting here, so. 
> 
> trigger warnings: night terrors, trauma, mentions of homophobic violence (specifically, an allusion to that scene at the beginning of It: Chapter Two, though nothing detailed).

For a long time they sit in silence. It’s not every night that the nightmares comes; it’s more like every odd day, but it’s significant enough that when it happens now, the moments after feel like the same routine, all over again. Stunned silence, catching his breath. Beside him, Eddie’s sat up, leaning against the headboard while Richie practices his breathing. _Four seconds in, hold, four seconds out._

Lamp turning on. Eddie reaches one hand out towards the nightstand, picks up Richie’s glasses and hands them over so that the world around him isn’t a shapeless blur anymore. 

By the time Richie had managed to wake this time, his voice had been hoarse, mouth dry; the sheets beneath them damp with his sweat. It’s another nightmare come to visit him again, yet another from what feels like an endlessly replayable list of every possible past and future that he had seen in the deadlights.

( This time, they are going to beat him to _death_. And he’s screaming _stop this, please_; pushing, shoving, all for nothing — and this is the worst horror, he thinks: being helpless to save the people you love. )

Of course, he never tells Eddie what he sees in his dreams. Why would he? It doesn’t matter. It’s not real; it isn’t, it wasn’t, not for them. 

Eventually he comes around, his breath having evened out enough for him to speak. He’s groaning slightly, removing his glasses, rubbing at his eyes. And when he speaks, it’s quiet, voice raspy: “Jesus, aren’t you tired?” 

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Of?” He questions, prompting Richie to clarify, even though he thinks he knows what he means. 

“Waking up. Like this.” Indirect answer. It’s obvious, though, what Richie means. The nightmares. But in a way, more than just the nightmares. The slumps. The bad days. Everything. 

Again there’s silence. And for a moment, Eddie thinks of not responding, not saying anything, unsure of the right answer. Of course he’s tired. The bags underneath Eddie’s eyes are a perfect match of Richie’s own, and not only as a result of Richie’s nightmares. 

The thing is, Eddie’s bad days aren’t like Richie’s. It’s a nightmare twice or thrice a month. It’s coming home from work feeling more than a little irritable. Not talking for days or else talking too much, an unreeled tape of anxiety. Sleeping too much or not sleeping at all. It’s just _different_. And still Richie’s there, takes it in stride: gives him space when he needs it; jokes over takeout dinner and movies when he knows Eddie’s fine. 

Finally, he speaks: “Sure I am. So what?” _I can take care of myself,_ he thinks. _And I’ll take care of you, too._ “If it’s what we need … You know, we get up, we change the bedsheets. Shower with the door open, flick through the TV channels until the sun comes up. While you need it, while _we_ need it.” 

In the darkness, Eddie can see Richie’s eyebrows furrowing. Sometimes it takes a moment to accept the love we receive. “Right.” Richie says, finally. He pauses for another minute, then nods. “Well, I’ll get new bedsheets from the closet. Then shower.” 

When he returns, the old bedsheets are already on a pile on the floor, by the bed. Eddie grabs one end of the new bedsheets Richie brings, and together, they pull the sheets over the bed corners.


End file.
